Pandemic Depression: 203 Days and Counting

I date the start of my coronavirus life back to March 13, the last day I went anywhere without a mask. The weekend before, my husband and I went to Indiana to watch two of our grandkids compete in a divisional swim meet. On March 9, I took my granddaughter to the orthodontist. March 10, I went to an adult education class at Northwestern University and sat in an auditorium filled with seniors. I also waited inside my daughter’s house for my granddaughter’s bus and hung out with her for a while. March 11, I met a friend for coffee, went to see my personal trainer, and had an acupuncture appointment. On March 12, I had lunch with a friend in a local restaurant, and drove my granddaughter to an appointment. On our last day of normal life, March 13, my husband and I had doctor’s appointments. After that, life as I knew it ended.

At our granddaughter’s talent show in February

Visiting grandkids in Indiana March 10

That’s 29 weeks, 56% of a year, that I have tried to do my part. I stay home most days, wear a mask if I have to go out for food or necessities, wash my hands constantly, and see friends and family masked and socially…